Welcome to the blog and bookstore of small Indie Publisher Quintessence Publications from New Zealand.
We publish exciting books: Fiction and non-fiction. Mystery, Erotica, SteamPunk Fantasy, Romance, Sci-fi, Comedy and Parody. Novels and Shorts.
Enjoy the selection of extracts in this blog and tell us what you think of our offerings.
Please Note: We tend to write in our native NZ English as that is the language we know and understand best. Please forgive any differences.

'I’d love to read your books, Scott. I’d like to read Joe Konrath’s books too. But they are a genera which doesn’t entertain me. Lots of readers are reading suspense and thrillers and gory accounts of ghastly paranormal things but this kind of book simply scares me. Being afraid doesn’t entertain me. Whereas it is plain that some people enjoy those feelings. So while your marketing concept is an excellent one it omits this particular fact – that not everyone can handle reading the kind of books you write.As a reader, I have to seek out the kinds of topics that do entertain me, the writers who intrigue my mind, who make me think and don’t scare me. It is a part of the challenge of both being a writer and and a reader – to connect the two and realise that we can only sell to a part of the market. To the readers who like to read our work and enjoy it. This isn’t everyone.Trade publishers would always reject books which did not have a wide enough appeal. Now as authors we can find readers for generas which did not exist previously. Yet the numbers of people which are in those reader groups are limited. This is why such books would be rejected – not enough readers.Now with Amazon and Smashwords we have a much larger readership potential – and it is world-wide, not simply in our own country. So the chances are we can sell more books – yet those books will sell only to people who want to read that kind of book.I don’t think there is any kind of book which I can say has universal appeal. Afterall there are still lots of people around who simply do not read. My family is full of non-readers.I’ll be interested to hear how your promotion goes for you.'

Monday, 5 September 2011

To be published in September 2011 by Quintessence Publications. Watch for it on Amazon.com and Smashwords.com

Prologue

The long, stone paved room was lit by soft overhead lighting. Twelve people dressed in sinister black hooded robes sat silent around a huge black timbered table. Their hands were crossed in front of them hidden in the confines of their voluminous sleeves. At one end of the table a gigantic man, naked above the waist, stood behind a young woman. He was holding her, his huge hands completely encircled her upper arms. She was sobbing quietly, her head bowed. Her naked body shook. But for the strength of the giant behind her she would have fallen. No one paid her any attention; instead they looked towards the other end of the table.

There a figure in a blood red cassock sat impassive. He uncrossed his arms. A pale hand, fingers tipped with sharpened red painted nails appeared as he reached for an old seventies style phone on the table before him. The dial tone of the old phone bounced from the speaker and off the stone walls, a connection was made. Another number was dialled; a remote dialler at the other end then duplicated the dialled number. Now the call was untraceable.

“Greetings, Grand Master.”

“The waiting is over. Release him.”

“He will be hungry for blood - it has been well over a year, almost two.”

“In death we guide the souls we take.” His voice was soft but as he spoke all the other sect members chanted together “Our sacrifice your thirst will slake.” was their devout response.

The man put down the phone. Getting to his feet he threw back his hood. With his other hand he produced a long serrated knife from inside one of his sleeves. All of the others around the table did the same.

Thrown onto her back on the great table the young girl finally screamed.

Today was the start of the bloodletting.

***

Chapter One

On his back on a low black leather bench in the atrium he stared longingly up through the skylight while fingers of moonlight bathed him in a cold brittle light. His soft black leather body suit clung to him like a second skin. He had always loved the way it showed off the contours of his muscular frame.

Ready!

Like some macabre gymnast he stood in one effortless movement. As a great cat stalking through dense jungle he glided down the hallway to the heavy wooden door at one side of the hallway. Dropping to one knee his left eye pressed to the brass keyhole. A dim red bulb cast eerie shadows over the room inside. Mistress stood with her back to him. Her slave was hanging from hooks in the ceiling which were attached by chains to leather cuffs around her wrists. Slap! Slap! The sound of leather on bare flesh was a part of his world. Taking pain so that others could take pleasure had been part of his training.

But he was more than just some pain slut. Much more!

He watched as the female slave known as Angel was unbuckled from her restraints, Mistress helped her to lie on her back on the bed. Her whispers were too quiet for him to hear but he knew the drill. First given pain, Angel would take a little more each day, then afterwards a gentle let down. Tonight it seemed she would be given the honour of some affection as Mistress lowered herself down onto her slave and they embraced. Soon they were fast asleep in each other’s arms. Sometimes it would be wild unrestrained sex he observed through the keyhole. But Mistress was never predictable; she knew instinctively what was right at any moment for any person.

When he whispered it was with a hiss like a poisonous reptile.

“Sleep, sleep little one sleep deep.

For into your bedroom one night I will creep.

When my teeth your neck I do bite.

You shall feel my hideous spite.”

Ahh… poetry it’s not just for the soft and fawning. I could write such meaningful poetry, he thought.

Tonight was special. He had endured an enforced break, restrained only by loyalty and iron discipline. Now he would once again become an instrument of death, a taker of souls. This was his destiny.

Flirting with danger never worried him. He enjoyed it, relishing the chance to pit his body against the odds. Death for him was something he wanted, even sought, but he was not prepared to embrace that dark shroud meekly. His wish was to die in a maelstrom of violence and blood, all of his own creation.

The coldness of the metal against his face stirred something within him. His eyelids closed and he focused inwards. This was his way of working himself into a higher state of being. Then, like a python, he slithered back into the shaft of moonlight.

A stainless steel and glass syringe already filled with a light blue liquid along with a thin rubber strap were withdrawn from a leather pouch that hung from a cord around his neck. He unzipped his leather sleeve from the wrist up and wrapped the strap tightly around his upper arm. Holding the syringe in one hand he pierced the skin of his forearm, sliding the steel shaft inside a bulging vein. Slowly he depressed the plunger. The liquid began to enter his blood stream. Aaah...It felt so good! How I have longed for this! He thought.

The drug required enormous strength of will to resist using it purely for pleasure. Years of training had always saved him from the insidious charms of the chemical.

Replacing the empty syringe and the strap in the pouch he lay down. His strong hands opened and closed repeatedly, caressing thighs and genitals as he worked himself into a vile perverted state. A warm glow swept through his body as the liquid worked. The sensation caused him to arch his back as the transformation from slave to unfeeling beast took place. Opening and closing his mouth, he grimaced, working his jaw like a boxer before a fight. Fingers brushed lightly across his lips. If only they were fangs!

At last his body relaxed. For a few seconds he lay completely still. Now he was ready with the latest dose of NAPE5 in his veins, an innocuous title for a potent dangerous substance. Non Addictive Performance Enhancer variant number five, only a scientist could give this wonderful substance such a sterile title. He knew the chemist only too well - truly she was the embodiment of evil.

The drug flooded through his veins, a warm glow masking the true purpose. When he next used his body in a violent and explosive way, the drug would stimulate his adrenal gland producing abnormal amounts of adrenalin. Muscle nerves would then begin to fire at an increased rate. For a few minutes he would be capable of almost super human feats.

Now he must stay in control and resist the temptation to rush into action until the time was right. Effortlessly he stood up, making no sound on the hardwood floor. Moving quietly he walked to the end of the hallway then descended a stairway into the garage. A highly polished, late model, black GM Van was parked on one side. A black tracksuit and hooded top were folded on the seat inside the cab. He dressed quickly slipping off his skin tight leather mask placing it on the seat beside him. Once he found his prey it would take him seconds to take off the tracksuit and replace the mask.

He used a remote control to open the large panelled garage door that gave access to the courtyard behind the apartment building. It opened silently on heavily greased bearings.

The van, lights off, quietly moved out of the courtyard into the alleyway as the garage door closed behind him. He waited until he had driven for a hundred yards on the deserted street before switching on the headlights. Now he was in his element and felt the heightening of his senses. The tension was electric!

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About Me

Christine Leov Lealand is an author and publisher. Her Best Selling Romance novels have sold over 40,000 copies in the Antipodes.
A keen 'prepper' and ‘burner’ (Burning Man) Christine loves the outdoors, is a blue water sailor, historian, belly dancer, adventurer and lifelong reader. At five years old she decided she was a writer.
Christine is CEO of Quintessence Publications and finds it takes up all of her time.
Too frequently she has to stop editing, writing and book cover buying to hurriedly feed her husband, three black cats: Zulu, Polly and Jumbo the cats and three fat chickens. @loveleov on Twitter